


The shadow of men

by Bill_Longbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 of a sorts, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Dates, Canon-Typical Violence, Cop Steve, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Mentions of human traficking, Soulmates, mob boss tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/pseuds/Bill_Longbow
Summary: When Steve sinks his teeth into bringing Tony Stark to justice he shouldn't be surprised the mob boss takes a mutual interest. He ìs suprised the mobster does this by kidnapping him, but the most confusing thing is that Steve doesn't really mind...In a world where soulmates are only rumours and myths, what chance do a cop and a crook have together?





	The shadow of men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silversoul_snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversoul_snow/gifts).



> Huge massive thank you to [Marie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria) for brainstorming and cheering! Without her I would have quit the exchange. She writes beautiful fics as well so go check out her AO3!
> 
> And also a big thank you to [gabby227](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gabby227) who helped betaing on a very short notice!

The first time it happens, detective Steven Grant Rogers of the NYPD vice squad, former US Army Captain and coach of the Brooklyn Badgers little league team, is nabbed in broad daylight while doing grocery shopping. 

It's so neatly done Steve never realizes a thing until he's sitting strapped to a chair with a burlap sack over his head. As soon as he starts to struggle the sack is pulled away and Steve has to blink against the bright light, a splitting headache flaring up behind his eyelids.

"So sorry for the inconvenience, my dear Captain," a melodious voice tells him as Steve blinks furiously.

The sound of liquid being poured into a glass next to him makes him look to the side, where a nondescript blond male holds out the glass for him.

"Phil, be a doll and prove to the Captain that we're not trying to poison him?"

The man takes a sip and holds the glass to Steve's lips with a bland smile.

Steve drinks hesitantly, but he knows whatever they drugged him with will be flushed from his system sooner if he has some water.

"There you go," the voice comes again from behind a row of bright lights which prevent Steve from seeing more than an outline despite his squinting.

"Now, you might be wondering where you are and why. These are good questions, but of course you realize that if I wanted you to know the answer to the first I would have just sent you a written invite." The man's chuckle sounds like dark chocolate and Steve wonders what they drugged him with for his mind to come up with such a comparison.

"Who are you?" He demands, frowning just to the side of the lights. "A braver man would show himself."

"Tsk, bravery is severely overrated. I prefer cunning, keeps you alive longer." The sound of paper rustling follows the man's voice, who sounds bored beyond measure.

"Why were you buying chickpeas, yogurt and dental glue? A grocery list on paper, really, Captain?"

Steve is so surprised at this turn in the conversation that he sits gaping like a fish on dry land for a moment.

“Why not?” Is what he comes up with, and he recognizes it as a third grade comeback, but it makes the man chuckle again, the sound going straight to some part of Steve he had thought was well hidden.

“Fair enough. I won’t question you about your dental status and you won’t question me on how I receive my guests.”

There’s some whispering just out of Steve’s earshot, and he uses the lull in the conversation to take in his surroundings and gauge the man apparently named Phil.

He’s in an abandoned warehouse that looks so much like a quintessential abandoned warehouse, complete with a steaming vent near the roof and one broken window, that it’s almost as if he’s on a TV set.

“It’s time to leave, Captain. It was very nice to make your acquaintance, and like the French say: Au plaisir de vous revoir!”

Before Steve can catch up with their plan, Phil has moved and there’s a damp cloth pressed to his mouth and nose. _Son of a bitch_ , is his last thought as he loses consciousness again.

 

The next morning Steve wakes up in his bed with a thudding headache, but he pulls himself together to start his morning routine anyway. The headline in the newspaper almost makes him drop his butter knife.

Four officers killed in mob war shootout at the docks.

That’s where he would’ve been had he not been kidnapped. Day off or not, when things like this happen all officers are called in. Was it even a kidnapping? He had only been interrogated about his grocery list. The whole thing was weird enough to almost think he dreamt it, but the coincidence was also great enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Who was in the know and had power enough to abduct an officer in broad daylight?

Only one man came to mind: Tony Stark-Carbonell, also known as the Iron Man, also known as the Mechanic. Head of the most powerful mob family in the greater New York area. Suspected of running the biggest human trafficking ring this side of the Atlantic. Steve has been trying for months to get some lead on the man, but for all his flashy media appearances the man might as well be a ghost story.

Stark fascinates and frustrates Steve in equal measures, and as of yesterday, he can add _confuses_ to that statement.

 

\---------

 

The second time, Steve manages to put some good punches in before someone puts a gun to his temple from behind and he stops struggling long enough for them to drug him again.

He comes to in what appears to be an Italian restaurant, tied to his chair but no burlap sack this time. There’s a headache, but it’s not as pronounced as the last time, and there’s no blinding lights either. For all appearances he’s taking part in an elaborate meal and only dozed off for a moment.

“Have you tried the scallops yet, Captain? They’re divine,” Tony Stark himself tells him from the other end of the table.

Steve makes eye contact with the man and moves his arms what little he can given that they are tied behind his back. “Are you making fun of me?”  
  
Stark grins and wipes his mouth on a napkin before waving to the side. “Please excuse me, where are my manners? Phil, if you please?”

The same man as last time steps from the side, where Steve hasn’t noticed him at all, and regards him with that bland smile that is just as disconcerting now as it was the first time.

“It’s only fair to warn you that there are three guns, one sniper rifle and a crossbow aimed at your person at present, Captain,” Phil tells him pleasantly before he neatly cuts the rope that holds Steve’s hands together.

Steve nods as he rubs the blood back into his hands, observing his surroundings.

Again, he can’t shake the feeling he’s on a movie set. The restaurant looks _too_ Italian to be real, with rows of empty Chianti bottles hanging from the ceiling together with strings of garlic and onions. The food is anything but fake, Steve is sure of that, and Stark chuckles when Steve’s eyes rake over the assorted delicacies.

“Don’t be shy, Captain Rogers, don’t let good food go to waste,” Stark says with an expansive gesture.

Steve narrows his eyes at the mob boss, who looks both smaller than Steve had imagined he’d be and prettier, and what the heck kind of thought is that to have one minute after being introduced to your kidnapper? To hide the blush that no doubt crept onto his skin at the thought, Steve picks a bowl at random and discovers it’s filled with calamari.

“Those are especially good this time of year,” Stark mentions behind his napkin, chewing on a piece of something.

It says a lot about Steve’s life that suddenly finding himself having dinner with the most elusive mobster of the Northern hemisphere isn’t the weirdest thing that ever happened to him, and like Stark said, it would be a shame to let the food go to waste. He ladles some squid onto his plate and starts to eat, eyes widening at the first taste.

 _Holy cow._ Is this regular fare for Stark?

He looks up to see Stark is watching him with unveiled curiosity and Steve matches the intensity of his look as he chews.

“It has come to my attention that you’ve been trying to get into contact with me,” Stark says when he’s swallowed his bite. Steve watches him as the mobster takes his glass of undoubtedly truly expensive red wine before sitting back in his chair.

There are several ways to play this, but Steve has never been one for lying, and this is his first and probably only shot at some answers.

“Why did you protect me during that shootout last month?”

Something in Stark’s face changes, like he’s disappointed in Steve’s question?

“Who says it was about protecting you?” Stark spears another piece of meat onto his fork and chews blatantly as he waits for an answer, while projecting he can’t care any less.

“I’m sure you weren’t interested in just my recipe for hummus,” Steve counters, shoving a piece of calamari into his mouth to chew just as disinterestedly. What has become of his life that he’s now in a chew off with Tony Stark?

Stark’s upper lip twitches the tiniest bit and Steve counts it as a win.

“I might’ve been. Who knows? I’m eccentric,” Stark shrugs with a small grin.

“Coulda texted me.” Steve hates to admit he’s starting to enjoy himself. Which he shouldn’t. Because he’s on the job, so to speak, and Stark is a dangerous and evil man.

“Okay, I might have protected you a little bit. Sue me for being considerate. Is that really the only thing you want to ask me? _Captain?_ ”

Steve picks up a bowl of fried vegetables he thinks are eggplant and puts some onto his plate to give himself time to think. There’s no way Stark will tell him the truth if he asks about the missing men and women Steve’s been investigating for months now, so he has to be smart about this.

Somehow, Stark has taken an interest in him, and while on the one hand this is terrifying, on the other it’s Steve’s only shot at getting closer to the man and hopefully unravel the mystery that’s been haunting him.

“I think it is, yes,” he replies with a smirk, making eye contact and holding it. Stark really has the prettiest eyes, some part in the back of his brain that Steve doesn’t want to acknowledge remarks.

“Alright. Tit for tat. Kindly give me your recipe for hummus.”

 

Steve half fears to read about more coworkers being shot the next morning when he groggily awaits his morning coffee, but the only noteworthy headline is his favourite bookshop being saved from bankruptcy by an anonymous donation.

 

\-----

 

The third time, Phil politely knocks on his door in the middle of the night and Steve lets himself be handcuffed and blindfolded. Beats being drugged again, he figures.

He tries to keep track of all the turns they make and how long they’re driving, but he’s sure Phil is taking a meandering route to wherever they’re going so he stops. It’s been seven weeks and two days since he’s last seen Stark, but there wasn’t a day where he didn’t think about the ~~enigmatic~~ evil man at least once. The conversation had been oddly nice, until after dessert To-- Stark walked up to him and whispered in his ear.

 

_“Why don’t you do a little investigation on the cops that died, Captain Fair?”_

 

The words haunted him for days, until he couldn’t take it anymore and he started digging. Unobtrusively, on his late shifts, out of sight of any prying eyes and wagging tongues. He found evidence that three of the four dead officers had taken bribes, and two of the four had been mentioned in witness statements of being overly aggressive and threatening during arrests.

It saddens Steve that his coworkers think these kinds of tactics are somehow part of their job, but it’s hardly a reason to have them killed. He wants to confront Stark with it, ask him what he’s playing at. Steve isn’t dumb. He knows how deep the corruption goes in the corps, that doesn’t mean everyone is free to take the law into their own hands.

Steve carefully tries to ignore all other thoughts that pop into his head. About Stark’s hands that he moves so gracefully or his eyes that seem to see through Steve and straight into his soul. Steve tries to pretend he doesn’t crave to hear his voice again, and he writes the tightening in his chest whenever he thinks about Stark off as allergies.

When the car stops and Phil opens the door, all Steve hears is the bustling of the city; no distinguishing sounds. He lets himself be led into a building and the smell tells him he’s in the restaurant again.

“Ahh, there he is,” Stark calls out from across the room, though it’s hard to tell from behind his blindfold.

Phil leads him to a chair and takes off the blindfold. Steve’s in the same spot as he was last time, the only difference is the buffet laid out in front of him.

“Good evening, Steven,” Stark says, and Steve is ~~pleased~~ surprised that he sounds fond.

“Stark,” Steve greets back.

Before Steve can say anything else Phil places an unmarked folder next to his plate and Steve looks up in surprise at Stark.

“Go on, consider it your entree,” Stark grins, but without the flamboyance from before.

With one last look at To-- Stark, Steve opens the folder.

In it is a stack of high resolution, black and white photographs and Steve carefully flips through them. They’re all pictures of the cops that died in the shootout, the ones he was investigating. Only, the files he had accessed didn’t mention the things he sees happening in these pictures. It’s clear they weren’t solely guilty of taking bribes and indulging their aggressive tendencies.

What Steve sees here is extortion, bullying, pure cruelty, and it makes his blood boil.  
  
With gritted teeth, he throws the folder onto the table making the photographs fan out.

“How?” He demands. What he actually wants to ask is _how can you see this happening and not act_ , but he also wants to know how the photographer was able to make these shots.

"I take it these things aren't in the files you have access to?" Stark asks as he butters a bread roll and Steve feels like throwing his plate at Stark's face.

"You know damn well they aren't; stop playing me for a fool," he grits out, leaning forward. The clear sound of a gun being cocked behind him pulls him back into his seat.

They stare at each other for a moment. Stark is chewing thoughtfully while Steve forces his anger back under control. He's in the lion's den and it won't do to let himself go.

"I'm not going to tell you how these pictures were taken, obviously, but I will let you know these were the final nails in their coffins, so to speak." Stark leans forward and Steve has to suppress a shudder at the intensity in his dark eyes (later Steve tries to convince himself it was out of fear and not arousal).

"These people are mine, and you don't mess with what's mine." With that Stark sits back in his chair and waves at the table with an inviting grin, like he hadn't just ordered a death sentence to anyone who opposed him. "Eat, Steven; the chef prepared some things especially for you tonight."

Steve wants to pretend Stark only sickens him and that the last thing in the world Steve wants is to share a meal with him, and he tries, but he can't deny the fascination he feels for the man across the table, nor the tiny voice in the back of his head that says those cops got what they deserved.

 

After Phil has brought him back Steve spends a long while staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep as whiskey brown eyes smile knowingly at him from the dark.

 

\-----

 

The fourth time, Phil suddenly stands in front of him in the checkout line at the deli where Steve sometimes treats himself to pastrami. The last time he saw Phil is long enough ago to make Steve startle when he spots that perfect hairdo, and anticipation coils tight in his gut. He’s man enough to admit he felt disappointed every day he _hadn’t_ been kidnapped, even if he doesn’t know what it says about him that the highlight of his social life revolves around being towed around town in a blindfold.

Phil politely waits for Steve to pay for his delicacy, a paper bag with who knows what under his arm, and they set off together like they meet up at the deli all the time. Phil steers him into an alley about a block away and Steve patiently waits to be blindfolded again before Phil helps him into a car around the corner.

Steve can’t believe his eyes when Phil releases him again. They’re in a miniature golf course.

 _The Iron Man takes his kidnappees out to play miniature golf_ , Steve thinks with a giggle that’s definitely not hysterics. Phil ignores him as he goes in front of Steve onto the course for which Steve is grateful. The place is deserted, if you don’t count the snipers who no doubt have him in their sights.

They find Stark on the fifth lane, leaning against what appears to be a downed UFO, frowning at his phone. Phil stops to wait and Steve follows suit, falling into parade rest on auto pilot. He takes the time to look at the different objects strewn about the golf course to keep himself from ogling To-- Stark, who is barely recognizable in a low slung jeans and a band t-shirt. It makes him look smaller, even if it’s plain to see now he works out, and something fiercely protective flares up in Steve’s chest. Something that has absolutely no place in a mob boss/kidnappee relationship.

Steve forces his eyes away from where the jeans cling to To-- _Stark’s_ hips to the attractions. There seems to be some sort of Halloween theme going, although he also sees a garish red neon kitten thing and a whale?

Finally Stark puts his phone away and smiles at Steve when he looks up. _A real smile_ , Steve thinks without wondering how he knows because Stark steps up to him to pat him on the upper arm.

“Glad you could make it, _Captain_.”

They have never been this close before, and even in the dim lighting Steve notices little details he hadn’t seen before. Like how Stark’s eyes are a dark hazel but speckled with gold, and how the hair at his temples starts to turn grey, and how impossibly long his lashes are.

The moment draws out with them looking at each other, trapped in a little bubble outside of time, and it’s like electricity is zinging between them, but it’s all sorts of wrong, isn’t it?

Steve shifts and the moment is broken, even if Steve still feels this inexplicable pull towards the other man.

“Yeah,” he nods in answer. “Me too,” he adds, and is surprised that he means it.

 

Steve doesn’t know if it’s the way Tony looks or the different surroundings, but their conversation doesn’t feel like a chess match anymore. It feels like, well, like a genuine conversation, and by the time they’re at hole nine Steve can’t tell the difference with a real date anymore.

 

\-----

 

The fifth time, Phil takes him to a new location. It's only been three weeks since he’s last seen Tony, but other than a pound of high quality pastrami delivered to his house there hasn’t been any communication, and Steve's been on the look out for Phil to come and take him again every day. When he finally spots him to the side of the field after his Badgers training, Steve is almost relieved.

Phil doesn't blindfold him this time, but Steve doesn't bother memorizing the make and model of the car or its license plate. He knows the thing will be on transport out of the country, probably the same day.

He is surprised they drive into the city. For no apparent reason, he thought the meetings with Tony were at some out of the way place, not in downtown Manhattan. Steve is even more surprised when Phil parks in front of a bank and helps Steve get out of the car to step into the building. When stepping in they are immediately noticed by a clerk and ushered to a private area with safe deposit boxes. The clerk helps them pick out a locker from which Phil pulls a safe, and invites them into a room where they can open the safe without being observed. Steve is perplexed enough to let himself be herded without any questions, until the clerk closes the door behind her.

“What are we doing here?”

Phil smiles his not smile without looking up from where he neatly twists and turns the combination lock on the safe. “Mister Stark wished to give you another gift,” he informs Steve when the door to the small safe opens.

Despite his disappointment of not getting to see Tony himself Steve’s curious what’s inside and leans in unconsciously as Phil pulls a manilla envelope from the safe. Phil hands the envelope to Steve, but holds onto it when Steve tries to take it, fixing him with an intense gaze.

“Don’t show this to anyone. Don’t talk about it with anyone. Open it in a safe location. We’re reasonably sure your apartment is safe from cameras. You will be contacted in two days. Do you understand?”

The way Phil intones this brooks no argument, so Steve nods mutely and puts the envelope under his coat. _Probably_ safe from cameras? Does that mean his house _is_ bugged with microphones? Whatever for?

Phil dismisses him and Steve leaves with his head low, feeling like unknown enemies are lurking in the shadows.

Back home he hides the envelope in the hallway behind his coat and forces himself to cook dinner first, before it’s dark enough to pull the blinds closed. He cuts himself twice while chopping vegetables, as distracted as he is by the possible contents of the envelope and all the possible reasons Tony didn't give it to him personally. Steve isn't sure if he prefers Tony growing bored of him over Tony being in danger.

When the stew is finally bubbling on his stove he deems it dark enough to be able to close the blinds without raising suspicion. He wonders if whoever put tabs on him did so after he was kidnapped by Tony or even before that, as he pulls the envelope and takes it to his kitchen.

He has to suppress the urge to look behind him before opening the envelope. The first thing that drops from it is a photograph.

Steve’s heart stops when he turns it around.

 

_It can’t be._

 

The picture shows a tired looking man with dark, lank hair framing his gaunt face. He sits on something resembling a dentist chair, looking a little to the side of the camera, as if someone is speaking to him and he’s unaware of the picture being taken. His left arm is missing, the sleeve of his dirty shirt empty.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers as he reaches to touch the man’s face. It’s undeniably him. Older and more worn, but it’s no mistaking his childhood friend. His brother in all but blood.

 

_He can’t see because of all the dust and the sand and the smoke._

_“BUCKY!”_

_Strong hands pull him back as he tries to crawl to the vehicle that ran into the IED and he tries to fight them off. Shells and bullets rain down on him and he cries out when one pierces his thigh and again when another hits him in the shoulder._

_Blinding pain overwhelms him and still struggling he loses consciousness._

  
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Presumed killed in action. His body exploded into so many pieces as to be untraceable.

Steve has to wipe a tear from his cheek before he can continue. He was a mess when he came back. Honourably discharged after being severely wounded in his second tour in Iraq. It took months for his leg and shoulder to heal, years before he slept through the night again.

 

_Bucky_

 

With shaking hands Steve next pulls a stack of papers from the envelope. It’s a confidential military report of a search and rescue mission in Iraq dated a year ago. Steve has trouble concentrating on the text as his eyes keep darting back to the picture. He stands up to fetch a bottle of water from the fridge and sits down again.

The mission objective was to retrieve a group of POW who were being held in the border area between Iraq and Syria. The mission was a success, but at the end of the report large swathes of text are blacked out, just as the list of names of who was recovered. Frowning, Steve pulls the remaining papers from the envelope.

One is the cargo manifest of an airplane set out from Deir er Zor for the United States. Several numbers are circled and it looks like the plane was fuelled for a lot heavier cargo than the manifest says it carried.

Next are a stack of grainy black and white photos of a building, increasingly zoomed in on two windows. In the last picture you can clearly see a man with a gun raised in one window and a group of people huddled close to each other in the other. Steve’s eyes dart back to the picture of Bucky and he briefly touches Bucky’s face before moving on.

A list of phone calls between several people. Steve notices Commissioner Pierce to be among them, but only a few of the other names seem familiar.

Last is another photograph, and Steve can’t stop the tears this time. _This_ is his Bucky, smiling at the camera. His hair is cut short, he’s clean shaven and clearly a lot better fed than in the other picture. Steve studies the background, which seems to be some kind of farm with mountains in the background.

As he moves to wipe at his eyes he notices there’s something written on the back of the picture in an elegant scrawl.

 

_Captain,_

 

_Know your enemies._

 

_T.S._

 

Steve doesn’t sleep a wink that night. His mind is a whir with increasingly outlandish theories about what the hell is going on.

 

\-----

 

They come for him the next day, during his early Sunday run in the park. After a sleepless night he feels drained but also antsy, and he’ll get stir crazy if he stays indoors.

When Steve sees a lone man on the path ahead he thinks Phil is busy so Tony sent him someone else to collect him, but suddenly he’s surrounded by thugs all armed with blunt objects.

"You shouldn't put your nose where it doesn't belong, _Captain_ ," the man in front sneers. There's something familiar about him, despite being hooded, but Steve isn't spared the time to think about it as the group attacks.

Steve’s a good fighter but he’s exhausted, by himself, and unarmed, and soon all he can do is lie on the ground and cover his vital parts, waiting for the blows to stop.

A gunshot in the distance and the men disappear as quickly as they came.

 _I hope Tony is safe_ is Steve’s last thought before he loses consciousness.

 

\-----

 

The sixth time... Steve doesn’t know if it counts as the sixth time.

He drifts in and out of consciousness. Sometimes to overwhelming pain, but mostly in a floaty haze of painkillers. He’s vaguely aware of people coming and going, but there’s one presence that remains steady at his side and it calms him. It's almost as if they're part of him, this solid… _there_ -ness in the back of his mind. An anchor to cling to when he threatens to lose himself in the vapors of drug induced sleep.

_His nose tickles when his mom sprays perfume around herself. It’s from the bottle he likes so much, with the little balloon attached that he’s not allowed to touch. The scent is nice too. He smiles at his mom in the mirror and she smiles back, ruffling his hair where he’s leaning against her side._

_“Bambino, will you behave tonight?” She asks with her eyebrows raised as she reaches for something on the vanity._

_He hums noncommittally and traces a pattern on his mom’s dress with his finger. When his parents are away he can almost always wrangle an extra story from Jarvis, and maybe because it’s Saturday he can stay up a little later too._

_“Antonio…” His mom draws the last syllable of his name out in a silent threat, and he looks up again to seek her eyes in the mirror._

_“Yes, Mama,” he says obediently, and gifts her his sweetest smile. His mom is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and he wants to stay with her forever. “Will you marry me? When I’m big like Papa?” He asks hopefully._

_His mom puts down the powder box and pulls him into her lap to give him the biggest hug. “Of course, Antonio, mia stella d’oro. I’d love to marry you.”_

_He holds her hand as she softly rocks him and sings a lullaby in her native tongue._

_The song transforms into a steady beep beep beep. His head isn’t cushioned against her breasts but on his arm, the one that’s not holding her hand. His hand. He can’t remember feeling this worried, this overwhelming sense of guilt. The simmering anger that lies just beneath the surface is much more familiar. He can use that. Hammer it into a purpose, a goal._

_He will find whoever did this and make them pay… But first he needs to know Steve will be okay. He needs to be here, to atone._

_Beep beep beep._

_He closes his eyes and focuses on Steve’s breathing._

 

Steve's not sure how long he slumbers and floats like this, in this dreamscape that somehow feels more real. At some point he crawls close enough to consciousness that he becomes curious about where he is and he opens his eyes. One eye, since the other seems bandaged shut.

A hospital room. Dimly lit.

He's the only occupant and a feeling of disappointment almost overwhelms him; something’s missing. When he woke up in the medbay in Iraq he was one of many, sharing a room with nine other unfortunates. There had been noise 24/7, not this quiet which is only interrupted by the steady beep of his heart monitor.

He briefly thinks about calling a nurse, but then the door flies open to admit Tony, and his feeling of hopelessness evaporates like snow in the sun.

"You're awake!" Tony pants, obviously having run here. "Are you in pain, do you need more meds? Do I need to call a nurse?" He shoots this barrage of questions at Steve as he cautiously moves closer to the bed.

"Hi," Steve smiles, probably a little loopy, judging by the way Tony's whole face softens as he drops his hands he held suspended like Steve's a skittish animal.

"Hey," Tony smiles back, but even in Steve's doped up state it's obvious he's sad.

Steve watches Tony sit down, feeling content in a way he never did before, but he's too fuzzy to spare it much thought.

Tony fidgets in his seat, not quite meeting his eye, but Steve doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind looking at Tony, who’s beautiful even with dark bags under his eyes and scruff around his goatee, and the only thing Steve would want to change is for Tony to sit a little closer.

“I’m sorry,” Tony finally says, looking up at Steve and down at his hands again.

It puzzles Steve; he doesn't know what Tony needs forgiveness for.

"I dreamed of you," Steve says with a smile, ignoring the apology for now ‘cause this seems more important, though he can't quite remember why. If he closes his eyes he's sure he'll fall asleep again, but he wants to tell Tony this first.

"You were tiny and you watched your mom get ready for a party. She's beautiful," Steve adds.

"Was. She, er, she died when I was five," Tony interrupts him, his shoulders slumping even more.

Steve can sense the sadness radiating from Tony at that statement, feeling almost like he lost her himself. "I'm sorry you never got to marry her," he says somber, his heart broken for that dark eyed little boy.

Tony sits up with a start and narrows his eyes at Steve. “I knew you were awake,” he answers, like that makes any sense in the current conversation.

“I’m glad you came,” Steve offers with a smile, feeling the pull of sleep getting stronger. “I hope you’ll stay,” he sighs just before he nods off.

 

  
_No abnormal traffic has been reported within a fifty mile radius.”_

_“Pierce?”_

Steve hears the men talking, but their voices are distorted like he’s under water.

_“Stays holed up in his mansion with a selected few. Rumlow and Rollins have been patrolling outside of their usual rounds, but nothing else.”_

_“No one reported him missing?”_ That’s Tony, Steve knows, and the thought makes him wake up a little more.

_“Apparently not.”_

Steve groans when he tries to move, his whole body lighting up in pain. Vaguely he hears someone calling a nurse while a cool hand takes his. The point of contact helps Steve to focus, and he opens his eye to see Tony looking down at him with a worried frown. Steve tries to smile, but the movement hurts his jaw and the right side of his face and it ends in a grimace.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tony says. Steve _sees_ Tony look confident but he _feels_ his worry and it’s disorientating enough to make him feel nauseous.

Tony is pushed to the side by a nurse who storms in and who bustles around Steve with businesslike efficiency, but Steve can’t look away from him. It’s like they’re connected on a level Steve can’t explain, unable to even tear their eyes away from each other, and as soon as the nurse puts another dose of painkillers in his drip and disappears, Tony moves closer again.

 

_Stella d’oro._

 

“What’s going on?” Steve croaks, his throat dry and painful.

Instead of answering Tony offers him a piece of ice, which Steve accepts and sucks on gratefully.

“You were attacked,” Tony says slowly, looking at the cup he rotates around and around in his hands. “Nat and Clint were too late to prevent you from getting…”

Tony swallows like he can’t push the words out. “They took you here, and we’re patching you up.”

This isn’t what Steve meant at all, though he is curious if this Nat is the same one as the one on his squad. He wouldn’t be surprised if it is. Not after everything.

“Tony,” he sighs and Tony finally dares to meet his eye again. “What’s going on?” Steve moves his hand between the two of them, as speaking hurts his ribs.

Tony smiles at him, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless, and it’s probably Steve’s imagination or the new meds kicking in, but the pain seems a little less intense.

“You noticed something too, huh?" Tony chuckles. "Let's just say this isn't normal kidnap protocol," he adds with a shake of his head, "but then again, nothing seems normal about this, does it?"

Steve shakes his head in agreement. It really doesn't. Steve never was one to trust easily, which only increased after… after Bucky's death, and the way Steve has taken to a _mob boss_ , no less, doesn't make any sense.

"I noticed you, before; you're hard not to," Tony chuckles again and hands Steve another ice chip. "But there was something more than just your pretty face and your tenacity in trying to implicate me," Tony smirks, but the expression holds no heat.

"I _needed_ to protect you that first time. You weren't wrong about that. And once I met you…" Tony trails off, like he's unsure how to continue.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Steve says, his voice still hoarse but getting better. It's something of a relief to know Tony seems trapped in the same spell as him, that the endless nights of lying awake isn't just him.  

"Yeah," Tony sighs, finally making eye contact again instead of looking at the cup. The intensity of his gaze should scare Steve, but it feels like _home_ , and he doesn't think it's the painkillers dulling him.

"What do you know about the soulmates myth?"

The question throws Steve. He must admit he thought about it, on nights where he woke yet again of a dream where Tony featured prominently. But it's nothing more than that - a _myth_. There are stories of people finding their one true love, who can hear each other's thoughts and experience each other's emotions after they bond. History, literature, and art all have a myriad of examples of these so called soulmates, and there are still organisations who claim to aid people to find theirs.

Steve never took much stock in the myths. Life is hard enough without the added stress of needing to find the One, and he never met anyone who was Bonded in the way of the legends.

"Nothing," he says, but he hopes to be proven wrong. He must be wrong, because what the hell is he doing here otherwise?

"Alright, bear with me," Tony says and very deliberately reaches out to take Steve's hand.

Tony's hand is cool in his and fits like they've been cast from the same mold. Which is ridiculous and it's just the talk about soulmates messing with him, right?

Steve watches as Tony closes his eyes, taking the opportunity to study the man. He looks tired, and Steve wonders how long he's been here and if Tony has slept or eaten anything in that time.

 

Regret.

 

Suddenly Steve's overwhelmed by the emotion of regret. Of helplessness. Of guilt. Of not having done enough.

 

_"I'm sorry."_

 

Steve hears Tony like he's behind glass, but he hears him nonetheless. Except Tony's lips never moved.

"Holy shit," Steve whispers, squeezing Tony's hand involuntarily.

Tony opens his eyes and grins. "Tadaa."

Steve's helpless but to smile back and as he does so Tony's whole face transforms from a mask to a genuine smile.

"It's not your fault," Steve says, because it's important Tony knows this, but Tony's face falls again.

"Yeah, it is. I knew there was a risk in showing you, but I grew complacent and you paid for that. Fractured cheekbone, dislocated jaw, broken ribs, broken finger and metacarpals, broken collar bone, severe spraining of one ankle and wrist, and enough bruises to make you look like an abstract painting." Tony intones the list like he has it on repeat in his head.

"You know who did this?"

Tony's expression changes, and even if the shift is subtle there's no doubt here sits a hard man. A man who doesn't take kindly to people touching what's his, and Steve is undeniably his.

"As sure as one can know these things," Tony shrugs nonchalantly, his expression anything but.

"And they'll pay," Steve continues, a statement more than a question.

"Hell yes, they'll pay."

"No killing though."

Tony's expression shifts again. Steve's only just starting to get to know him, but he's sure he can spend the rest of his life cataloguing Tony's face, who looks softer now; fond.

"Okay," Tony sighs, and Steve nods.

"Bucky?" He should've asked about his friend first, his friend who's still alive and no doubt has lived through unimaginable horrors.

Tony squeezes his hand to pull Steve from his downward spiral of thoughts.

"James is doing fine and is looking forward to seeing you. As soon as Bruce gives the signal we're moving you there to recuperate."

Steve's eyes widen at the statement. He never thought about where he was exactly and why and how, overwhelmed by… well, by Tony.

"You can't go back, Steve," Tony says, sensing his confusion, and Steve really has to get used to someone _in his head_.

"You're part of my family now," Tony adds, but it sounds less like a fact and more like a question. Steve realizes he has a choice. He can go back and work in the force and wonder every second who he can trust and who wielded the brass knuckles, or he can stay. Get to know Tony, his business, _Bucky_.

Steve nods. It's really not much of a choice.

He sees Tony visibly relax, feels it deep inside as well, and it makes him smile.

"You think I'm pretty?" Steve asks after they sit just looking at each other for a bit. He means it as a joke, or maybe he doesn't, because Tony's answering nod loosens something inside.

"The prettiest," Tony answers with a smile.

Steve knows he blushes, but it doesn't matter when Tony's eyes grow so fond.

"Not true, you're the prettiest," Steve counters and grins when Tony rolls his eyes.

 

The sixth time really doesn't count as a sixth time when there's no place Steve would rather be than at Tony's side.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this awesome prompt: 
> 
> Steve is a FBI/CIA agent and is assigned to track down/do an undercover mission regarding the notorious mafia boss Tony Stark. He doesn't know what he's expecting but it certainly isn't for Stark to show an interest in him and start kidnapping to flirt with him. (Tony's more an anti-hero, than an actual villain here).


End file.
